Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring: Unexpected Arrivals
by KoreanAloeJuice
Summary: When Pixie and her friends are unexpectedly sucked into Middle Earth, they all arrive at different times, leaving some of them stranded for decades. It's a world of uncertainty when you don't know who is who and what is what, especially when you're no longer human. If matters weren't bad enough; a forgotten evil grows, lying in wait for a moment of weakness. Not Legolas/Human
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One – An Unexpected Movie Night Goes Awry

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I hear an urgent pounding on the front door. I tilt my head and scrunch my face into an annoyed frown. It's seven in the evening and my parents are finally away for their anniversary weekend. It's practically snowing buckets, and I can't think of a single reason for someone to be banging on the door. Then:

"PIXIE! OH, MY PEEEEEEEXIE!"

My lips automatically curve into a smile and I answer: "PUNKIE! COME IN, MY PUNKIE!"

It's Punkie, my "bestest bestest westest friendicus evaaah", known to other people as James, or if it's a teacher: "Mr Flint! (Insert reprimand here.) Get into my office, NOW!" James isn't exactly the goody-two-shoes, suck-up type. He's more the rebellious, do-what-I-feel-like-when-I-feel-like type. He is, as my nickname for him suggests, a punk. His parents don't mind, because even if he causes serious crap, a pretty smart person. Also, they say that if they grounded him, he'd have more time for mischief, because then he wouldn't be traipsing around with me all the time. I have female best friends, as well, but James is my only friend with a key to my front door and half his clothing in our spare room.

He stomps in after wiping off his feet and shuts the door. He's finally growing out his blood red mohawk, and is styling it into a faux hawk which he soon plans on dying a dark green. He shakes out his hair, which for once isn't styled to oblivion with 3000 pounds of hair gel (or craft glue as per my crazy suggestion). The two of us are the oddest pair imaginable. A punk and an anime girl. (I dress in the more socially acceptable anime styles, but I never leave home if my hair isn't in pigtails with massive ribbons in it.) He's rebellious, loud and pushes people away with angry silences, whereas I'm crazy, quiet and I push people away by acting overly happy and loud. Our strange ways of pushing people away always worked, until we met each other. You probably don't think it's a weird pair, but if you were to see us, you'd understand.

"Pixie! Get up off you lazy derriere and help me make snacks! I've invited everyone over; we're having a Lord of the Rings movie night!"

All I have to say is: "Saaaaaay WHAT?"

You know like in that one episode of Clone High where they're all making movies and Mahatma Ghandi is all like: "Saaaay WHAT?". Exactly like that. James rolls his eyes. He stalks over, sticks his cold hands under the blanket I was snuggling under and around my waist and lifts me up. I shriek in his ear from the cold and he winces.

"Seriously, woman? I'm going to stop calling you Pixie and start calling you Banshee..." His eyes move down and he sees what I'm wearing. "Oh, and that's where my lucky hockey socks and Gryffindor shirt went. Give it back, you silly Hufflepuff!"

I stick my tongue out at him and start walking to the kitchen to start making some snacksies for us. "Well, Mister Goody-two-shoe Gryffindor, unbreakable loyalty can inspire incredible courage!"

I carry on walking and I think about the socks. "And I hope that you haven't done THAT with your hockey socks. I did wash them when you left them here, but that would be all kinds of nasty, knowing that you'd done THAT with them."

He went slightly green and grimaced. "Nope, that is all kinds of wrong. I have to put those on my feet. Plus, they're my lucky socks; it would be like peeing on Lady Liberty."

I raise my eyebrows. There is no way that a pair of socks is that important. I grab several bags of butter popcorn and start popping them. He and I stare at each other while the popcorn is popping and blink every so often like pair of weirdoes. Sometimes we do that. Then we'll burst into peals of laughter, his all deep like his voice and mine high-pitched and practically unending. There's some more banging on the door and James goes and opens it. He greets two people loudly (which is pretty much his only volume).

"Lacey, Aaron! Long-time no see!" I can hear his grin in his voice. "And by long time, I mean four hours!"

They laugh and come to the kitchen. Lacey doesn't even bother asking, she just starts pulling food out of the fridge and the cupboards and the boys just sit down by the kitchen table, perfectly content to make us do the work.

James says, in a good imitation of Thor, "This mortal form grows weary, I need sustenance!"

I giggle a bit and pour him a glass of Coke, which he downs (an amazing talent he has).

"Another!" he exclaims, exactly like Thor.

"Hold your horses, Thor; we still need snacks for our movies!" I have to control his sugar intake, or else we'll have a crazy James leaping off the walls.

He just nods and grins at my words. "Very well, kitchen wench, proceed to make my feast!"

Aaron and Lacey just shake their heads at us as I squawk mock-indignantly. Lacey makes a jug of hot chocolate and I pull a plate of brownies that I made earlier this week out of the fridge. The doorbell rings (only one of my friends ever rings the doorbell, the rest preferring to break down the door) and Aaron excuses himself to go open it.

"That's probably my sister; she took our car so she could go visit some boy." He rolls his eyes. "Honestly, I don't think she quite heard my parents when they said that we must share the car."

When they come back, Gwen dumps a large bag on the table and shoves her russet hair behind her ears. "There, a peace offering. I will never attempt to miss one of our movie nights to see a boy, ever again! Are you all happy now?"

James' amber-green eyes sparkle with mischief. "Swimmingly!"

Her brown eyes fill with fire. "Flint! You were just joking when you said that everyone was going to be upset! Oh, I am so going to kill you!"

I shake my head, my blonde pigtails bouncing. "Not now, you aren't. Everyone, arm yourselves with some bowls and let's go explore the world of Middle Earth!"

Gwen picks the bag up and the rest of us grab bowls and we park ourselves in our favourite spaces in my lounge. Gwen digs through her mystical shopping bag of Santa and begins throwing stuff at us.

"Here you go, you mangy pranksters!" She tries to sound angry, but her affection for us bleeds through.

Most of it is just our favourite sweets, but she also gives each of us a framed photo of us five on one of our camping trips. As we all settle (I save a space for James under my duvet, Lacey claims her favourite armchair and Aaron and Gwen have a siblingly fight over who gets which cushion), James sticks the first DVD in and I examine the photo.

James is pulling one of my pigtails, but my sea blue eyes just shimmer with content; Gwen and Aaron are pulling faces at each other, mirror images of each other, except that Gwen has red hair where Aaron has brown; and Lacey is just rolling her eyes at us, her arms around Gwen and I, her black curls being tugged by the wind. We're like a little family and the picture shows exactly how happy we all are (in our own ways of course).

I tuck the photo away in one of James' hoodie's pockets and James comes and crawls under the duvet with me. The five of us stare expectantly at the blank screen and nothing happens, but just as I'm about to speak, the world goes black. James, my duvet and the couch beneath me all disappear, and I fall through the darkness, landing with a painful jolt. I lose consciousness and my world goes even blacker as my eyelids flutter closed.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Because I am lazy and couldn't be bothered with making up a language, I have simply given you the Sindarin translation of their names.

"Normal speech"

"_Elvish" (will be specified later in the story, but for now she doesn't know which Elvish it is)_

_Thoughts_

Chapter Two – Pixie in Wonderland

When I come around, I am surrounded by trees and I have a major headache. I am in a clearing with my back to a tree, pale silvery-white leaves falling all around me, the sunlight dappling through leafy canopy far, far above me. These trees are HUGE. And I don't mean that they're really tall trees, I mean that they're as tall as sky-scrapers. I turn around to look at the tree behind me; its trunk is about as large as my house (well, what I can see of its trunk). Speaking of my house, where am I? And why are the leaves silver; leaves are supposed to be green!

I shake my head and begin climbing the tree, the large indentations in the bark making excellent handholds. There's a branch about eight metres above me, as wide as my double bed at home. Because I have no shoes on, only socks, my feet are beginning to ache and sting from the strain of gripping. I reach my branch and claw my way onto it, wincing as my hands scrape on the rough bark. I sit on it, wanting to find some food, but unwilling to move, because I don't want to miss it if anyone comes past. My stomach grumbles loudly, reminding me that I haven't eaten since lunchtime back at home. A small pale gold fruit falls from the tree, onto my lap. I look up, thinking that someone may be above me, but no one is there.

I don't eat the fruit immediately (it may be poisonous, you never know) and it permeates a sweet smell, almost like a ripe apple, but much, much better. My stomach grumbles in protest at my not eating the fruit and another one drops from above. I look in the direction that the fruit came from, but I see no one. What the hell? I take James' hoodie off and wrap the fruit in it and tie it around my waist and I start climbing up again.

I reach another branch, this one slightly thinner that the last, but still thick enough to walk on without fear. No one is here, so where do these fruits come from? I carry on climbing, even though I'm scared I may fall off. By the time I reach the third branch, I'm more than twenty metres above the ground, and the prospect of falling is even scarier. But still, there is no one here.

I mutter aloud, hoping to draw whoever me be listening out. "Where does this fruit come from?"

That's when I hear the tree. I didn't actually hear the tree with my ears; I heard it with my MIND.

_Where do you think the fruit comes from, little tree-dweller? Are there any other trees that are kindly giving you their fruits?_

I lose my grip a bit, catching myself before I fall. "You're a tree!"

The tree seems mildly amused. _Of course I'm a tree. I am not one of the winged-ones, nor am I a spotted-hunter and I most certainly am not a tree-dweller._

"But you speak! I m- mean, think!" I correct myself when I realise that tree wasn't actually speaking.

The leaves around me rustle a bit. _Why should I not think?_

"Because, you're a tree!" My answer makes sense to me.

_I know that. You know that. _The tree is rather patient with me. _Come, eat the fruit, you are hungry._

I shake my head. "It may be poisonous."

_My fruit will not make you ill. _The tree gives off an aura of mild impatience when my stomach rumbles again. _Eat; I have called the Wise-One of the tree-dwellers. He will know what to do with you._

"Tree-dwellers, what are they?" I take a bite of fruit after I ask my question. The flavour is heavenly, indescribable. It's like the mother of all fruits, that's how amazing it is.

The tree gives a mental huff. _YOU are a tree-dweller. Two legs, pointed ears, bright coverings._

"I'm not a tree-dweller!" I say it just to argue, but then I realise what he said (if the tree is a he, it feels like a he). "Wait, what do you mean by pointed ears? My ears are round!"

I automatically feel my ears. My ears are NOT round. I'm happy but freaked out at the same time, and my breath catches in my throat a bit. "I have pointed ears. Like an elf!"

It rolled its metaphorical eyes. _Yes, like a tree-dweller. Now, you must return to the ground, the Wise-One waits._

I finish the fruit and I notice that I'm no longer hungry, nor is my head sore (I bumped it, remember?). The scrapes on my hands are gone as well. I just shake my head and chalk it up to a strange fruit from a talking tree with silver leaves. I scarper down to the first branch and look at the elf on the ground. Long dark hair bound off his face frames clear grey eyes. He doesn't look old, but he doesn't look young either, sort of timeless; as though no matter how many centuries may pass, he'll remain unchanged. The hilt of a sword peeks from under his cloak where it's fastened to his belt, and there is quiver of arrows and a bow over his broad shoulders.

He looks at me and says something in a strange fluid language. I tilt my head in confusion. It sounds like the Sindarin from the Lord of the Rings movies, but I don't speak any of the Elven languages. He speaks again, in a similar language, and then again in another similar language, none of them quite the same. My head tilts to the other side, like a budgie in front of a mirror. My hands tighten around some of the tree's bark and I feel a wave of reassurance from it. The man continues to speak, this time in something that sounds a tiny bit like really Old English. I shake my head at him, and he says something in a horrible, guttural language that has me clapping my hands over my ears in pain as I cower into the tree's trunk.

The elf looks at me in surprise and offers me a hand. I shake my head. As long as I stay with my nice tree-friend, everything will be just fine. I'll wear clothing made of fallen leaves and eat those fruits whenever I'm hungry. I'll even drink rainwater or something. At least the tree understands me! Speaking of understanding…

I turn to the tree. "You understand him, right? Can you please tell him that I'm not from around here and that I don't speak any of his languages?"

It rustles its leaves at me. _I could. Or I could do something even better. Many an age have the tree-dwellers wandered in my forest and I have become quite fluent in their silly languages. I could share my knowledge with you, similar to how I communicate with you._

I shake my head in confusion. "What? You mean, you don't speak English? Then how do you understand me?"

_There are no languages in the mind, lost one, I simply perceive what you think. _Its answer actually makes sense, in a weird way. _You only think that I understand your language because you interpret my thoughts in your own way._

"Oh, right…" My head feels like it's going to burst from all the weirdness around me. "Okay, think some understanding into me, please!"

The tree rustles its leaves in an amused fashion. Or at least, I think that it's amused… Then something peculiar happens and I can see the world from the tree's perspective. The tree doesn't see, it has no eyes. It just knows and understands; the feeling of it makes my brain ache. The incredible sentience disappears and the elf glances at the tree then back at me.

I press my palms to my aching temples as he speaks, I can understand the words, but it's strange and I have to put each word together like a puzzle.

"_You understand me, now?"_ At my nod, his face softens in sympathy. _"Come, I have medicine for you in my home."_

I cling to the tree and try to form a sentence. _"My mother… I… She told me not to follow strangers home."_

The leaves rustle around me again. _Go, little lost one; he will not harm you, and if he does, I will have my forest avenge you. Come visit me again, soon, strange child._

I decide to trust my strange tree-friend's judgement (trees are good, no matter what anyone says) and I clamber down and brush my jeans off. I pull James' hoodie on again and put the second fruit in its pockets, my fingers brushing the photograph as I do so. My heart clenches. Where are my friends, and are they as lucky as me? I, at least, had a tree to fend for me for the single hour I was alone. I attempt to sort through the new languages I know, but it's difficult and I give up half way through, deciding to try again later, when my head isn't aching.

As the elf leads me through the forest, I notice that there are fewer and fewer silver leaved trees, all of them being replaced by more familiar kinds, like oak and pine and birch. There are other plants amongst the trees, some I recognise, and some I don't. The flowers are in full bloom, adding colour everywhere your eye can see. There is a warm breeze and the air is fragrant with leaves, flowers and herbs. Overall, my surroundings are practically paradise. Birds call overhead, I see a few amazingly tame herbivores (deer and others, though I don't know exactly what they are) and brooks babble delightfully (I don't mean literal babbling, that would be annoying). Not just my surroundings are incredible, though; I am, too, and I don't mean it in a vain way. I can see, and it isn't as though I had eyesight problems before, but now I can really see. Like in Breaking Dawn when Bella opens her eyes as a vampire. Okay, maybe not that clearly, I mean, I'm not watching dust motes spiral about, I'm just seeing in amazing detail and so far ahead of me that I may as well be an eagle or something. My hearing is also better, the slightest rustling, or even the footstep of a bird far above me, I can hear it all. My nose, too, is like a bloodhound's, things that I could not smell before, I now smell with ease.

"_I am Duinhir," _he startles me out of my thoughts. "_If you have a name, I would like to know it, as I cannot call you 'Lost-one', as_ _Hírorn does."_

"_Hírorn? Is that my tree-friend?" _He nods, and I finally have a name for it and can stop calling it 'tree-friend'. "_My friends call me Pixie."_

He frowns at the strange name. "_Pixie? What does it mean?"_

"_Um, it's a type of fairy?" _He raises an eyebrow at me. "_Do you even have fairies here?"_

"_I know not what this 'fairy' you speak of is." _He examines me for a moment. "_You need a new name."_

I scowl. "_But I don't know any names!"_

"_If you cannot choose a suitable name, I will choose for you." _There is silence for a few minutes as he ponders what my new name should be. "_You will be known as Eryniel until you come of age. From that day, you may choose to assume a new name, or someone may bestow a new on upon you."_

"_So I am to be known as the Daughter of the Forest." _I frown. "_That's not very original!"_

"_It is who you are, now." _He regards my clothing carefully. "_Where did you come from?"_

"_Not from here, that is certain." _I think for a moment. "_I'm not even from anywhere on this world!"_

"_I did reach that conclusion myself," _he says, dryly. "_Not that it matters, as you cannot go home. I would help you, but I have not the skill."_

Silence reigns between us for a while, and I notice that I'm getting hungry again. I don't want to ask him to stop to find food, so I take out the second fruit and nibble on it; marvelling at how quickly it satisfies my hunger and how my second headache since awakening seems to disappear.

Duinhir regards me quizzically. "_You have been given a great honour."_

I finish chewing and say, not at all intelligently, "_What?"_

"_You have been given the fruit of the Rhovanel tree. It is an honour only below that of being given the nectar, sap and seeds." _He catches my elbow as I stumble over a tree root. "_Few ever even see the fruit, let alone have the opportunity to eat it."_

"_Why, and what does it do?" _I think of another question, this one even more valid than the last. "_And where are we going, we've been walking for ages!"_

He walks faster. "_I am taking you to my sister's home, as I assume any pain you might've had has been healed by the fruit. The fruit aids healing, not as much as the sap does, but enough that any minor ailments will be fully healed. The Rhovanel give it only to those who have great destinies."_

"_Great destinies, what do you mean by that, and why are you taking me to your sister's house?" _My curiosity burns within me.

"_My nieces were your height a few years past, so they will most likely have clothing that is more… proper that you may wear." _His face darkens. "_And yes, great destinies. The last person to receive their fruit was chosen by the Valar to guard the East from Sauron the Deciever."_

Fragments of his words get stuck in my mind and my feet stop moving as I blanch because of my realisation. "_The Valar. Sauron. Oh, Heavens above, I'm on Middle Earth!"_

He stops at my anguished wail.

"_Explain," _he says, tersely.

My brain scrambles to come up with an explanation. "_Back home, there are stories, legends, all to do with Arda. Most of us believe that they are but tales, but now I am here, and I am not so sure."_

He nods his acceptance. "_All tales contain some truth, even if it is but a grain of it."_

We unexpectedly stop, even though all I can see are trees. He spots the confusion on my face.

"_Look to the sky, Eryniel."_ He appears faintly amused.

My eyes swivel upwards and I tilt my head back. The air exits my lungs in an awe-inspired gasp. It's a tree city. The city is in the trees, literally. There are wooden bridges spanning over the empty space between trees, ropes connect different branches together and there are ladders and staircases that allow you to access the higher reaches. Doorways, windows and arches are in the tree trunks and there are gardens hanging down from trellises attached to the bark. If I was still human, I would have had an excitement-induced asthma attack by now.

"_This is one of the quieter areas in the city; my sister lives on the outskirts, though not quite as far out as I do." _He smiles at me for the first time today. "_Welcome to Caras-in-Gilgelaid." _

He starts climbing up the tree, pulling himself up deftly and gracefully. I haul myself up after him, cursing the many scrapes I seem to be getting from all the tree-climbing I'm doing. After climbing to the first branch, we take the stair case that is hewn in the trunk and he knocks on the large double doors at the top of it. As we wait for someone to open the door, I notice that there are things hanging from the branches and twigs of the trees. Bits of ribbon, gemstones, pieces of mirror; pretty things, basically. A gemstone glitters in the sparse sunlight, and I have the urge to climb all the way to the top, to see if I can find pure, undappled sunlight. A young child that looks to be about five years old (though you can't tell with elves) pulls the door open, staring curiously at my outlandish attire. However, I am completely forgotten when he sees my companion.

He gives a happy cry of, "_Uncle! Nana, uncle is here!" _

Duinhir catches him as he leaps up and hugs the child to his body. There is some muffled shouting from inside, and a female version of Duinhir rushes towards us, her long gown rustling behind her. Her face contorts into startled relief when she sees us.

"_Brother, you should have told me that you were coming!" _She sounds a bit exasperated, as though she has had this argument with him before. "_And who is this?"_

Her voice is kind when she asks, and I can't help but smile at her. "_I am Eryniel."_

"_I found her by the Rhovanel trees," _he elaborates, crisply. "_She has no home, no family, no friends and no possessions but those that she wears."_

The elf woman gasps in sympathy. _"I am Taengened, and this is my youngest son, Gaellir. You are most welcome here."_

She looks like she is about to ask questions, but her brother shakes his head. "_She is not of this world, my sister."_

They share a look that seems to last for hours, when in reality its only seconds. The little boy is content to play with Duinhir's hair, sometimes looking at me with wide eyes. I make a face at him; he giggles at me and makes one of his own. This is the sweetest child I have ever seen, and I normally do not like children. The adults snap out of their staring match as our face-pulling war begins. Both of them look at me in amusement when I win with my patented, cross-eyed, tongue out, ears pulled face.

My companion just shakes his head. "_I was hoping that she may borrow some of my nieces' clothing until such time that I have her own made for her."_

Taengened smiles. "_Of course, I still have their clothing from when they were about her size."_

She pulls us inside and I fall in love. This house-within-a-tree is utterly incredible. Glowing crystals (I guess that candles are a bit of a fire hazard when you live in a tree) light the interior, and some of the furniture is actually carved out of the tree. I barely notice when I'm pulled down several flights of steps, that's how amazed I am by everything. We reach a sort of storage room, with trunks, boxes, chests and unused furniture piled everywhere. She sorts through a nearby chest, pulling out a large bag, and heads to the back of the room where she looks in a large wardrobe after peering at me for a few moments. She motions for me to come join her, and I look quizzically behind me at Duinhir who remains where he is while I walk towards her. She pulls out several articles of clothing; some Elven tights, a few shirts, some dresses, a cloak, a pair of plain black slippers, leather boots, some socks and some underclothes. I blush as I suddenly realise why he stayed behind. She puts it all neatly into the bag and hands it to me.

As we walk to the upper floors, I realise that I have something very, very important to ask about. The siblings chat quietly and I wonder how to broach the subject. I have a bright idea.

"_Taengened, can you please help me with the clothing?" _I look at her, trying to convey all my confusion and fear. "_I have never worn garments like these before."_

Her brow furrows. _"Certainly. Brother, would you please take my little one into the sunshine; I have not had the chance to, yet."_

I breathe an inward sigh of relief as she takes me to what must be a guest room.

Before I change my clothing I turn to her. "_Before I came here, I was a mortal."_

She looks confusedly at me.

"_I have no female relatives," _I try again. She still looks blank. _"Nor do I have any FEMALE friends."_

Her face clears with understanding. "_I see, you do not know how we elves have children."_

I nod desperately, blushing so hard that I'm sure that I've become Rudolpha the Red-Faced Loon.

"_It is a very good thing that I have already had two daughters." _She laughs, "_How old are you, young one?"_

"_Two months shy of seventeen, why?" _I ask.

She thinks for a bit. "_For every four turns of the seasons that Men age, Elves age but one."_

I then think for a bit. Sixteen multiplied by twelve; add ten and multiply it all by four then divide by twelve once more.

I flinch reflexively. "_I'm sixty-seven years old, by that reckoning!"_

"_Elves age far slower than Men, and we stop once we reach maturity." _She shrugs. _"You have about thirty-three years left until you are full grown and about eight until you come of age."_

I frown from uncertainty. "_There is a difference?"_

She nods. "_Yes, when one reaches maturity, you cease to grow; when you come of age, you are ready for courtship to begin. Elves only start to be able to bear children when their tenth century approaches; and only when both the mother and father are ready and willing."_

The biggest sigh of relief that I have ever breathed is loosed from my lips. Having children is something I will probably never be ready for, but now I am being told that I will only have one when I am ready. I throw a mini-party in my head, but then I realise that there is something else that I may want to ask before I turn a thousand years old. "_Are there any physical changes that allow us to have children? Mortals bleed a few days each month."_

Her eyes widen in what may be shock or horror (personally, I wouldn't blame her). "_Stars above, no! Nothing of that sort, at any rate. We do not manifest any direct physical signs; ours are more subtle, our scents become sweeter, our flesh is warmer to the touch and our cheeks flush more, but that is all."_

I heave another sigh of relief and impulsively hug her, feeling really grateful that she would help a random stranger in this way. "_Thank you, very much. I do not know who else I would have turned to if you did not help me."_

She pats my back and strokes my hair, the action almost bringing tears to my eyes, it's so similar to my mother. "_I am glad that I have helped you, then. Come; let us see about your attire, then."_

I let her change the subject, not blaming her very much for wanting to do so. I do, as well. She explains how the fastenings on my clothing work and shows me what goes where, then leaving me to change my clothing by myself. I take of most of my own clothing off, leaving my underpants and socks, and I pull on a pair of russet tights and a creamy white shirt (it's loose and flappy, rather like a peasant blouse). A hunter green waistcoat/corset hybrid that is fastened at the front goes over the shirt and I finish off my new (utterly bizarre) look with the boots. I loosen my silver-gold hair from their pigtails and pull it back in a French braid, keeping my spare elastic on my wrist. I put all my own clothing in the bag and make my way back downstairs, where I hope someone is waiting for me.

Someone is waiting for me, a whole three someones. Taengened gives me a pair of fingerless gloves like the pair Duinhir is wearing, and I realise that they're meant for climbing trees. She helps fasten my bag of clothing across my shoulders on my back and gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

"_Come back if you need any help, or even if you wish for some companionship." _She's definitely the mothering sort, I will be sure to come see her again. "_Brother, you both could stay for the night, you are quite welcome."_

He shakes his head. _"No, I must go and see Lainthel for Eryniel's clothing, and then we must make our way to my home." _

They hug and before I leave, I hug her again, muttering a quick "_Thank you," _and following Duinhir out the door.

We do not go down, instead walking over the bridges and branches for about an hour, until we reach another home like Taengened's. Another Elvish woman ushers us in and we are surrounded by rolls of brightly coloured fabric and mannequins. Ah, a seamstress; better, an ELVISH seamstress. I wander off to feel the fabrics, but I hear Duinhir saying that I need a full wardrobe as soon as possible. I wonder if this woman, Lainthel, also makes boots and shoes. I peer through a doorway on my right. Yes, yes she does. Before I can go a-wandering again, Lainthel pulls me into a small room off of her main working area and begins measuring me. Around my hips, around my waist, around my shoulders; my arms, neck, thighs, feet, hands, chest and height are also measured. She asks about my preferred colours and shoos me out as I thank her.

Once we're outside again, I turn to Duinhir. "_Thank you, though I do not know how I will repay you."_

His answer is gruff. "_You may repay me by being a good student. I grow weary of knowing things that no other knows, I will teach you these things."_

I stare at him. Who are these generous people, not many people on Earth are willing to help strangers. The already dim sunlight begins to fade as he takes me through the forest to his home, a humongous grey tree, and sets me up in a room painted pale blue. I'm far too tired and overwhelmed to take my surroundings in properly, and I fall asleep the second I get into bed after a quick (vegetarian) dinner.

That night, my first night on Middle Earth, I dream of five graves. Mine, James', Lacey's, Aaron's and Gwen's. Our families stand crying around them and I am filled with dread.

I am never going home; I do not have a life to go back to, because sadly, I am dead. All I can think of is: How the Hell did I die?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I keep forgetting, I don't actually own the Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion or any of J.R.R. Tolkien's works. The man is a genius, he must take the credit. And if people could please let me know what they think, that would be cool. Also, please forgive my butchering of Sindarin; I am trying the best I can. If something is wrong, tell me and I will try my best to correct it.

For convenience's sake, the first floor is the floor corresponding with the first branch. Anything below that is a cellar, a basement, a storage facility or specific room whose function will divulged in the story.

Many thanks to AckaRed for being this story's first follower! *offers digital and mental cookies of your favourite type*

"_Elvish" (Avarin, the language of the Avari Elves)_

"Westron" (The language that the humans of Middle Earth speak)

_Thoughts_

Chapter Three – It's The Little Things That Make Life Worth Living

When I awaken from my dream, it's still dark outside; not the golden-green twilight that Caras-in-Gilgelaid was during the day. At first, I think that it was all just some strange trippy dream, like Alice in Wonderland. Pixie in Wonderland. I sigh. No, not Pixie in Wonderland, more like Pixie in Sorrowland. It's one thing, knowing that someone else has died, because you learn to deal with the grief; it's another thing entirely, learning that you, yourself, have died. I don't even know what to think, and I all I can feel is this deep-set sorrow because I won't ever see my family or friends again. I have nothing to remember my old life by, except a picture and some clothing.

I pull off my borrowed night dress and haphazardly pull on some other clothing. I can see perfectly well in the dark, a poor exchange for my old life, so I don't stumble or bump into things like I would've back at home. I can't bear to sit here in this unfamiliar room, so I climb, out of my window and down the tree; not evening thinking about what my new, self-imposed mentor/guardian will think in the morning. My feet somehow lead me to the one of the three other places I know in this forest: back to Hírorn. I don't know how I know the way back, but back I go; walking as though in a trance.

Hírorn (bless my good tree-friend) doesn't seem surprised that I'm there; he just rustles his leaves (which are glowing faintly in the moonlight) in that reassuring tree-way of his and sends a wave of welcome, calm and fortitude. I pull myself up to the seventh branch, offhandedly noticing that I'm not getting tired, but giving up on reaching the top. The leaves grow more brightly as I get higher, and they're like small stars of captive moonlight. Hírorn seems to understand what's bothering me, but doesn't speak until I've stopped climbing.

_Little lost-one, though you are dead on the land you come from, that does not mean that you are not alive here. _Of course, my tree-friend has the wisdom of the ages on his side, and while I can agree with him, I still feel so very sad.

"Yes, but I don't have a home anymore! I don't have a family; I don't even have my own name!" It's true; I'm now known as the Daughter of the Forest, oh joy! "I have no friends, no enemies. I have no identity. I am myself, but I don't exist here, not really."

A small hollow opens on his trunk and I take it as an invitation to crawl inside. It closes again, and the inside is stuffed with those radiant, silver-white leaves. I curl up, making a nest for myself amidst the glow, Hírorn waiting patiently for me to get comfortable.

_I am your friend, am I not? _He's right; I do view him as my friend, my only friend in this sad fantasy-land. _Duinhir has said that he will teach you and his sister has welcomed you to come at any time into their home. Little Gaellir thinks of you as a friend, as well._

I smile when I think of that adorable little boy with his silver hair and grey eyes. It's true. I have a teacher, a woman who has helped me with something a mother normally helps her daughter with, a tiny elf-child who I can pull faces with and I have my helpful, wise tree-friend. I settle for a bit, the leaves soft against my skin, before I speak again. "Tree-friend, why am I here? What purpose will I serve, and who brought me here?"

Hírorn brings me into his consciousness again, but this time, I am used to it and it doesn't hurt as much as it did before. I receive an impression of ethereal beings, probably gods of some type, but Hírorn knows them only by their minds. He shows me the warning they gave him, the warning that I would be lost and confused, that I would need help and guidance. His mind retreats again and I massage my temples a bit. "Who are they?"

_They are those who shape the world. _He seems to retreat in himself for a bit and I catch a flash of one them painting a small sapling with starlight. _They made us who we are._

I nod a bit, suddenly feeling drained and as though I could sleep for a week.

_Sleep, little one. _The sound of Hírorn creaking around me, his leaves rustling, is better than any lullaby I have heard. My eyes close, and I fall asleep, surrounded by leaves painted with starlight.

This time, my dreams are disturbed by beautiful people of power, men and women who are not bound by mortal or even Elven constraints. There are welcoming smiles on their faces and their hands are outstretched towards me. I chase after them, and when I can finally touch them, it feels as though I've eaten the sun. Warmth and strength fills me, I am no longer weak and lonely. The light fades; and the dream is replaced by the One Ring, a cruel voice and the feeling of fear and duty. After a while, that too disappears and a pair of friendly, bright blue eyes stare at me in my dreamscape. The eyes wink and all I hear is a kindly voice saying, "Find me."

My dreamscape fades away, and I awaken to my little den filled with leaves. A small hole opens again to reveal the forest, lit with reddish-gold sunlight, and a very angry Duinhir. I clamber out and cringe at his voice.

"_Imagine my surprise, when I find that a young girl, who does not even know north from south, has left my care to wander around a forest filled with dangerous creatures, in the dark of night, no less." _His voice is so sharp, you could cut glass with it. _"What in the name of all the stars were you thinking?"_

I say the only thing I could think of. "_I miss home. And I needed to find the sun and the stars."_

Bizarrely enough, his anger seems to dissipate like mist in the sunlight. "_I understand. When I first came to the Forest, I, too, missed the open air and the light of the sun and moon. Come, let us return, breakfast needs to be eaten before anything can be done."_

"_So, you're not angry?" _My voice is almost childlike; it's so full of remorse.

He sighs and reaches over to squeeze my shoulder gently. "_I was not angry, I was fearful. Fearful that you may have become lost or been harmed in some fashion."_

As he guided me back to his home, he questioned me on my life before arriving here; what could I do, where did I live, my favourite past-time, any activities I enjoyed, my favourite animal, favourite colours, favourite food and suchlike. He seemed to be piecing together my life before now, though for what reason I do not know.

Finally, he stops asking questions and says, "_From this day onwards, you will spend the mornings with me and the afternoons with my sister. She and her daughters will teach you the intricacies of life as an Elven woman. Your nights will be devoted to your own studies." _

I just nodded and he arched a single eyebrow at me. "_What, no questions? Yesterday, you were brimming with them."_

The light in the forest changes from reddish gold to greenish gold as we walk, and I know that the dawn has passed and that the day has begun. We pass several elves on the way back; when they greet Duinhir, he introduces me as his ward. I don't particularly mind, but everyone looks at me curiously, as though I'm a unicorn or something. Before we go home (because I no longer have a home on Earth, this is my new home until such time he gets sick of me), he takes me to Lainthel once more, who is already working and, amazingly enough, has some clothing for me. She doesn't say anything about my rumpled, slept in clothing, but empathy is in her eyes as she hands us two large sacks, saying that she'll send the rest via the baskets.

My curiosity burns once more. "_Duinhir, what are the baskets?"_

Faint amusement is present on his features. "_Ah, I see your questions have returned! The baskets are a system used to transport good throughout Caras-in-Gilgelaid. Special ropes are arranged on the tops of trees in a complicated system, there are large, strongly woven baskets attached to them and goods are placed in them. The sender will set the path to a specific destination and then send the basket off through the trees."_

I am sure my eyes are the size of soup plates. "_But how do the baskets keep moving until they reach their destination?"_

"_It is a system of mechanical pulleys and enchantments, all improved and maintained as the city grows bigger."_ He sees my mouth open to ask more questions and he puts a hand up. "_Hush, I will explain it all to you in greater detail in your lessons."_

I pout in disappointment, before I begin taking in my surroundings again. We have continued to walk on the forest floor, probably to avoid meeting too many people, and even though I feel as insignificant as an ant amongst the giant trunks, I still feel as though I'm an important part of life in the forest. It's as though the forest itself is welcoming me. When we reach my new home, I am not as tired as I was yesterday and I can fully appreciate the giant tree with the exquisite carvings, flourishing gardens and pretty glass windows against its silver-grey trunk and dark emerald leaves.

The inside is as impressive as the outside, the soft grey wood reminding me of limestone. Strangely enough, Duinhir's furniture is not made of the same tree his home is, rather it is intricately carved rosewood. There are tapestries hanging on the walls; bright thread depicting what looked to be the history of the Forest with delicate vine borders of pale gold, stark against the dark backgrounds. Resplendent indigo, gold and green fabrics cover the dark wooded furniture, contrasting well with the pale surroundings. The first floor seemed to be devoted to the large, carved staircase in the centre of the tree, with a sitting room, a bathroom (or is it a privy? I am not suited to this Ye Olde Times madness) and a meeting room all off the main staircase room.

The second floor has a kitchen, a dining hall and a sitting room. We bypass the dining hall and sitting room; going straight to the kitchen. I had discovered that the tree somehow has a plumbing system in it (I needed to use the bathroom when we came here after I arrived), with both hot and cold water on tap. The kitchen has a marble basin, a stone oven-thing, a table, several cabinets and a stone larder/pantry. (Were larders called larders because they stored lard? Oh, the questions I should have asked BEFORE landing myself on Middle Earth.) I notice strange runes engraved on the oven, taps and pantry, and I can no longer hold my questions in.

I let them free like a burst dam. "_Duinhir, why are there runes on everything? Does your tree think, like Hírorn? What type of tree is it?"_

My new teacher smiles tolerantly as he brings out a loaf of bread, a crock of butter, some cloth-covered cheese, several fruits, some jars and a few jugs from the pantry. "_The runes are enchantments that make our lives much simpler. No, my home is not like Hírorn, it does not have a consciousness. This tree is a lithaladh."_

"_So, what do the runes do? And what do those tapestries show? How many levels does your tree have?" _Now that I've started asking questions, I can't seem to stop.

"_It is your tree, too, now." _I'm both sad and grateful because of his words. "_The enchantments allow for a change in temperature. The tapestries show the history of Caras-in-Gilgelaid since it first began, after the Darkening passed. As for your last question, you shall take today to acquaint yourself with your new home, as well as the immediate area. I will be rather busy today, for I have to make arrangements for you."_

Guilt floods through me. I am making this kind person change his entire life for me. "_Thank you for taking me in, Duinhir; no words are adequate in describing my gratitude." _I think of all that he said. "_What is the Darkening?"_

He takes what seems to be a fortifying breath and looks pointedly at the food in front of me before speaking. "_You will learn the history of Arda from Hírorn, but for now, I will explain this to you."_

He seems to gather himself for a few moments. "_Here, in the East, the Elves are known as the Avari, the Unwilling. When the Elves first awoke, we lived at __Cuiviénen, north-west of here. We were given a choice, make the journey to the West and sail to the Undying Lands, or remain in the East, under the stars. We Avari chose the East, for we could not give up the stars for anything, not even the promise of eternal light, such is our love for them. Because we did not leave, we sank into darkness, overwhelmed by dark creatures, foul beasts and evil. We hid ourselves, deep in this forest to avoid them, losing ourselves as we did so. For an age we slept, deep within the forest, to shield ourselves; awakening about four millennia afore the Years of the Sun began. Elbereth, the Star-Queen, then guided us, creating the Rhovanelin to help us. And so, we drew ourselves from the night, striking back at the darkness with the light that lives within us. As the years passed, we learnt how to use our own spirits and energy to enrich and protect that which is around us, forging ourselves anew under the light of the stars."_

_He smiles, as though remembering something truly glorious. "__When the Years of the Sun began, we had established peace for ourselves in this forest, it became a haven. Soon, we grew restless and began to expand, setting up colonies along the Hildorien, in the Far Harad and along the coast. Our colonies became cities of their own, and the Avari split into four peoples; the Tauredhil of Caras-in-Gilgelaid, the Síredhil of the Hildorien, the Gaeredhil of the coast and the Eredhil of the Far Harad. We have even sailed off the coast to the lands to the East. We fell into darkness, but we have also risen to be much stronger than our Western cousins, less affected by evil and the sea-longing that so often takes them."_

_"Amazing," __I say, my voice full of wonder. Before now, I had honestly thought that there were no Elves to the East of Mordor, nor that there was any land besides that of Arda. "__What did you find on the lands to the East?"_

_"Many things." __He smiles at my insatiable curiosity. "__Now eat your breakfast, I expect you to return to me by noon, no earlier."_

_I pull two slices of bread to my plates, buttering them and smearing a thick red jam on them. I take an orange, a handful of strawberries and a green apple, adding them to my plate with the plan that I would take them with me in my explorations. I glower at the jugs apprehensively, not willing to taste something horrific._

_Duinhir laughs at my expression. "__Feral cats appear to be trusting when one looks at you. It is but fruit juice; look, orange, raspberry and mango."_

I pour myself some raspberry juice, offhandedly wondering how they make their juices. In truth, I have been acting rather skittish, but do you blame me? I was dropped here, with no idea of what was happening. From there, the first sentient being I met was a tree, and the next an elf. That doesn't happen back at home. Plus, that horrible language that made my ears hurt was rather… frightening.

"_Duinhir, what was that last language you tried to speak to me when you first saw me?" _I think that my interest in this is justified; I need to be able to protect myself from that language in the future.

"_The Black Speech, the language of Sauron and his army," _he answers, peering at me over his juice.

"_Why did it hurt my ears?" _I blink somewhat owlishly at him.

"_It may be that you are not accustomed to it," _he shrugs gracefully. "_In truth, I do not know. We will understand more, the more we know of you and your capabilities."_

I accept his answer and finish off my juice as he is finished with his breakfast and no doubt wants to return to whatever he is doing.

He stops me before I leave, with a stern expression on his face. "_Remember, return by noon and keep my home within your sight. Do not concern yourself with exploring inside; that will be done after the midday meal."_

I nod and murmur my goodbyes, grabbing my new sacks of clothing and taking the staircase to the next floor, which has several rooms on it, each with their own bathroom. I look for the one I slept in, not quite remembering, I was so tired last when I first arrived. After about the sixth room, I find my blue walled room and dump my baggage on the floor next to my unmade bed. I make the bed first; then I close the door to my room and begin taking my new clothing out of the bags. Somehow, Lainthel has made seven simple long dresses, five pairs of these trouser-tights things, seven shirts, three front-lacing corsets, a few nightdresses, ten pairs of underclothes (some strange wrappings for my chest and some flappy knickers things), some more fingerless gloves, some socks, two pairs of boots and two pairs of flexible slippers. My eyes pop out of their sockets (not literally, that would be a bit of a problem). How on Earth, I mean Middle Earth, did she get this done in one afternoon and a night? I pack my clothing away into my wardrobe; hanging my dresses on some really bulky hangers and folding the rest neatly. Two small bags are also stashed in the sacks with the clothing. One has a hair brush, a comb, some hair ties, a set of soaps, a few small bottles and a tiny sheathed knife with runes etched onto the blade; the other is an empty satchel, probably for general use.

I take the toiletries bag, eyeing the small knife hesitantly, and retrieve my emerald green corset, a pale grey blouse, chocolate brown leggings, a pair of thin socks and some underclothes. I go to the bathroom off of my room and strip down, making sure that there are no openings that anyone can see into. The bathroom has a big bathtub, a basin with a mirror, a small room with a stone toilet (you press a small button with a rune etched onto it to flush), several cabinets and what look like areas to hang wet towels or clothing. I open the cabinets, finding a few fluffy white towels, a few cloths, some soaps and some bottles. I take out two towels, a cloth and all the soaps and bottles; placing them, my bag and my clothing on a table under the window, between the gauzy white curtains. I curiously sniff the soaps, determined to find one that I like. The ones from the cabinet all smell like lavender, roses or vanilla, and my nose wrinkles at the heavy smells; but one of the soaps from my bag is pale blue and smells of violets, and I take that one for my bath. The bottles from the cabinet are much the same as the soap, and I return all of it. Out of the three bottles, two have opaque, viscous liquids and the last has a clear watery liquid. I smell the viscous liquids, one smelling of rosemary and citrus, the other smelling of almonds and honey. I mentally cheer. Rosemary is good for cleaning hair, and almond and honey are the Ye Olden Times' version of hair conditioner.

After I've run myself a hot bath, I sink in and give myself a good scrub. In all honesty, I'd spent however many hours unconscious at the foot of the tree, several hours climbing trees, some more hours walking through a forest and about half a night sleeping IN a tree. I expect the water to turn brown or grey with grime, but it just becomes slightly white from the soap. When I wash my hair (rinsing it with clean water in the jug), a few leafy bits come out and I'm not surprised, because I've practically become a wild woman of the forest since I arrived here. I dry myself off while wondering what the knife is for and what I'm going to use as lip balm, body lotion, toothpaste and a toothbrush. That's when I begin to notice a few little things that I didn't see before.

All the cellulite and stretch marks on my thighs are gone, as are the small scars on my knees that I got when I rode into a tree trunk while learning to ride a bicycle. The freckles on my shoulders are gone; leaving smooth ivory skin behind, instead of the fair, easily-sunburned skin that used to be there. The small marks that I got, just because I was human, are gone and what is left is an elf with skin like milk. No scars on my fingers from when a beaker exploded during one of mine and James' chemistry experiments, none of my old cat scratches, no freckles and no beauty marks. I rush to the basin and stare into the mirror. The freckles on my nose are gone, as is the scar on my chin and the pimple had on my cheek. There are no blue circles around my eyes, and bags are a thing of the past. My eyes are still the same mix of grey, blue and green, and my face still has the roundness of youth; but when I bare my teeth at my reflection, my teeth are far whiter than I think they have ever been, even if they remain slightly crooked. Where my cheeks used to be an infernal red that James always teased me about; now they are stained by a pale pink flush, like spring rosebuds. I blink, and that alien reflection blinks back at me.

The truth hits me like a baseball bat. I am no longer human.

I know that I'm an elf, but now I fully realise that I'm not a human and that I'm no longer bound by mortal constraints. I'm still soft, though; I probably have to exercise to become toned, but I don't mind. A girl needs something to work for in her life, and this is my something. I pull my clothing on, buttoning the small pearl buttons and lacing up the corset's matching green ribbons. The tights have tiny buttons on the inside, and I suddenly miss zips with all my life. I take a quick sniff of the last bottle, smelling sage, rosemary and mint. I dab a bit of it on my tongue and it tastes quite pleasant in a herby way, so I decide that it's mouth wash. I rinse and spit a few times because that's all I can think of doing with it. Oh, where's my fluoride toothpaste?

In front of the mirror, I comb and brush my hair, noticing the lack of knots, snags and split-ends. I pull it back into another French braid, not really knowing what else to with it, and quickly becoming bored with them. I rinse the basin and the bathtub, trying to keep them as clean as possible. I pack my things away, leaving the two towels I used for my hair and body to dry on the rails with the cloth. My soap goes into a small glass bowl to dry and I put my toiletries in one of the cabinets. I fold yesterday's clothing neatly, wondering what to do with it and deciding that I'd make sure that it gets washed later. After I pull on some gloves and boots, I grab my satchel and rush down the stairs, now eager to explore. When I take the fruit I put aside earlier, I find an empty waterskin under them and I take that as well, filling it from the tap by the basin. There's a door in the kitchen that leads to an outside branch and I open it, admiring the flourishing herb garden. I save investigating it for later and scale down the side of the tree.

The forest floor around my new home is wild, with many flowers and plants interspersed amongst grasses and the constantly falling leaves. On the other side of the giant tree that I now live in are huge double doors, larger than those on the first branch. Detailed carvings of vines and flowers surround all the doors and windows, inside and out; all of them stained a few shades darker than the walls. I open the rosewood doors to find a stable, with four regal horses inside it, and another set of doors. I refrain from opening those, going back outside and shutting the door behind me.

I walk in forest, following Duinhir's precautions and picking some flowers. There are very few elves on the floor, most of them travelling through the trees, above my head. I long to explore the upper reaches, but I don't know anyone, so I stay down below where I'm relatively safe from encountering people. For the most part, it feels as though I'm wandering through a beautiful dream. No tree would ever grow to be this big on Earth and few people would be this friendly or kind. I would not be able to see, hear or smell as well as I do here and I wouldn't have my current tireless stamina. I munch on my fruits and pay attention to important landmarks; noting the types of trees and plants as I go.

When the dim sunlight through the leaves no longer slants at an angle, I return home, sure that it is midday. Duinhir is waiting in the kitchen and doesn't seem angry, so I'm probably right. He sees the flowers in my hand and roots through a cupboard to find a vase which he fills with water. I stuff the flowers in it and put them on the table, deciding to arrange them later. Duinhir takes a quiche-thing out of the oven and puts it with a bowl of salad and the earlier loaf of bread that's already on the table. There's also another jug on the table, along with this morning's three, and I sniff at it, wrinkling my nose in disgust when I smell alcohol. I've never been much of an alcohol person, not because I'm scared of the repercussions, but simply because I don't like the taste. I wonder if Duinhir does all the cooking and cleaning in the house; I haven't seen anyone else, so it must be so.

We eat a lunch consisting of salad; some bread; some delicious cheese, tomato, mushroom and herb quiche-thing; and a few sweet cakes that taste slightly like the smell of flowers. Duinhir and I talk about small things, like what did I see and what I am most interested in; I try to ask him about his life as a young elf, but he steers away from it and throws questions at me in retaliation. We clean the dishes; not that I really mind, because I have rather missed the menial task that I would normally perform every day on Earth.

"_Before I leave you this afternoon, I have something I must show you." _Duinhir's voice startles me out of my appreciation for tasks that I used to despise. "_I have spent much of the day here, making adjustments to my home, and I think that you will find this one especially pleasing."_

I tilt my head. "_What is it?"_

"_A surprise." _He laughs. "_Come, I will show you."_

I follow him up the steps, losing count of the floors as we ascend. Three floors similar to the one that I live on, two floors that make up an infirmary, a library spanning four floors (chairs are peppered amid the many, many glass and rosewood bookshelves), a floor devoted to musical instruments, an art studio of sorts takes up another floor, above that is floor with just three doors surrounding the staircase, a floor devoted to storage comes next, following that is a floor with giant baskets and many ropes, then two empty floors, and finally, the very top floor.

Each floor seems to vary in height, so I do not accurately know exactly how far up I am; but by the slight burn in my legs, I know that I'm quite far up. There are three doors around the stairway, one to my right, one to my left and the last is behind me. When we open the door to my left, I see a large bathroom similar to the one downstairs, except that I can see proper sunlight coming in through the tall windows. I give a squeal of excitement and throw open the flimsy drapes, gasping as I see the top of the forest. There is a balcony encircling this floor; so I push the window open and step out of it, feeling my heart almost give out at the splendour before me. I can see the tops of the different trees; bright green, emerald green, dark green, silver green, russet, gold and far, far out in the distance, silver-white. Some trees have blossoms, some have fruits. No clouds mar the azure sky and tears prick my eyes from sheer amazement.

I walk along the balcony, vaguely aware that Duinhir is following me, and see the blue-grey-green ocean in the distance. I can tell that I will never leave this balcony, I simply can't.

Duinhir adds his voice to the serenity around me. "_When we first lived in the forest, this is floor that my sister lived on. It is your place now; it and the two floors beneath it."_

My breath catches and tears of gratitude glaze my eyes. "_Thank you. You have taken me in, given me food, clothed me and promised to teach and guide me. And now this. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"_

He just shakes his head and smiles at my gratitude. "_This floor has been empty for many a century since my sister wedded, it deserves a mistress."_

He takes me by the arm and guides me back inside; through a set of double doors this time instead of the vast windows. I step into a bedroom, my bedroom. The walls are a pale pearly grey and all the furniture is rose wood, like the rest of the house/tree/tower. The snowy gossamer drapes billow slightly when I open the windows and the jewel-toned fabrics of my bedspread, cushions and chairs catch the bright noonday sunlight. There is a fireplace, a dressing table, several armchairs, a bookshelf, a huge bed, two small bedside tables and three more doors. I open one to find the centre room with the top of the staircase and go to the other. This one opens to a small room that seems to be for any form of clothing I'll ever own; several spaces for hanging dresses, shelves for folded clothing, drawers, chests and two trunks litter the area. A full length mirror also stares at me from its position opposite a window.

I open the trunks to find some more parcels, neatly packed by Lainthel; I'm beginning to think that she pulls clothing from thin air. Once the trunks are closed again, I rush to the other doorway, feeling as though I've stepped into a fantasy world. I wish my family and friends could see this; I wish that I wasn't the only one here. When I open the third door, I find the bathroom again and walk through the other door the stairway and open the last door. This room is a study of some form; with a writing desk, bookshelves, a fire place and several comfortable looking chairs. I open random drawers to find quills, ink, sticks of charcoal, some papery stuff, blank books, envelopes and other stationery. The bookshelves are filled with books that I really don't think I'm able to read. I open one. Nope, currently, the writing in these books are worthless squiggles to me.

"_Duinhir," _I say, tentatively. "_I do not know how to read in the languages of Arda. Or write, for that matter."_

He just smiles. "_I have been meaning to speak with you about that. As I mentioned earlier, you will spend your mornings with me and your afternoons with my sister, spending the nights on personal endeavours. My sister will teach you about everyday life as an elf; when she has no more to teach you, you will be taught the history of Arda by Hírorn every afternoon. I will first teach you reading and writing, gardening and cooking; then we will work on the different forms of combat, stealth, healing, armour and weapon crafting, jewellery making, art and music. From there on you will learn Elven magic; the Elvensong, Enchanting, Invocation, as well as the other magics I have found on my travels. You should master all this with ten years of focused study."_

I just gape at him, shocked that one person could actually learn so much, but remembering his words from yesterday, I say, "_I will try my best, Duinhir."_

"_And that is all I could ask of you." _He looks at the position of the sun. "_I must go. Explore the galammar; if I do not return by nightfall, you may eat dinner without me. Tomorrow we will talk of what you wish to do with the floors below this one."_

He leaves to do Heaven knows what and I retrieve all my belongings from my old room so that it can all be packed away. Before I put everything away, I decide to explore my new tree-home, the _galammar_, saving my three floors for last. The basket floor is one of the most interesting ones; it's filled with levers, giant baskets (some have levers in) and ropes; there are several hatches that the baskets can exit from, with lengths of rope spanning in every direction. There is a canopy of leaves above this level, but even with the dimmer light, my eyes see far. That always astonishes me, this sudden improvement of my senses.

The other more interesting floors are the infirmary, the library and the floor full of musical instruments. There is a large branch with a flower garden and some chairs outside the musical floor (that's what I'm going to call it); I'd love to arrange some similar gardens around my floors, for I have a branch exiting my second floor and the balcony on my last. The infirmary hold my attention only because I've always wanted to be a doctor of sorts, and seeing as there are no doctors here, being a healer is the next best thing. I resist my urge to scratch around in the infirmary, as I know that the things in the infirmary shouldn't be disturbed. The library floors have two branch gardens; I can see myself outside, reading one of those countless, exquisitely bound books in the golden green light of the forest. I skip the floor with three doors, as it's probably Duinhir's rooms, and continue my descent. The floors with the many rooms (guest rooms, I guess) barely get a cursory glance from me, let alone an exploration.

I go downwards, past the floor with the kitchen and dining hall, past the entrance floor and down into the floors below the first branch. The first floor below the branch has several stone tables and many strange tools that I've never seen before, so I continue with my descent. The next floor has pottery kilns, mannequins, large crates filled with 'stuff', needles, thread and miscellaneous items that I recognise but can't name. The very bottom floor is another floor that captures my interest. Two anvils, many hammers, many pairs of tongs, wire cutters, a water trough, some kind of forge, a bellows and some crates are what I can name, but there is much more on this floor. I follow through a door and find myself in the stable, surrounded by things that horses need.

After a quick petting of each horse, I make my way back up the stairs, thinking about time on Arda. The days seem longer here, as though there are more than the usual twenty-four hours in each day. I save pondering it for another time and I begin to unpack my new things, finding elegant gowns, some of the more elaborate and decorated than others; some more tights, in a range of colours that span the forest surrounding us; a horde of more shirts, most of them creamy white, but there are also other colours; undergarments and socks a-plenty; nightdresses galore, all soft and warm; corsets, some prettily embroidered, others more muted; a multitude of dresses, shorter, more lightweight and more brightly coloured than the gowns, but none coming above the calf; tunics (things that I did not have before), similar to those that Legolas wears; coats of varying styles and materials; kirtles and chemises, reminiscent of a renaissance fair; cloaks of different colours, lengths and thicknesses; and a collection of boots and shoes top it all off. (Or do they bottom it all off, seeing as they're on your feet?)

At the very bottom of the second trunk is a box of soaps, two boxes of bottles, a large pouch of ribbons and hair ties, a spare knife-thing, a spare hair brush and a spare comb. I honestly wonder how Lainthel managed to procure all of this so quickly; it's a skill I'd certainly love to have. Most of my afternoon is spent packing everything away and arranging my rooms to my specifications.

In all honesty, I do not expect this to last. This entire situation is like a dream; no one has such good luck that they have someone take them in, feed, clothe and teach them, all at the price of being a good student. Realistically, no one magically appears on a fictional world that shouldn't exist, either, so I am caught thinking that this is a combination of Heaven and Hell. The Heaven part is the sheer wonder of this whole place, the Hell part is the fact that I'm dead, alone and can never see my family and friends again.

I somehow muddle my way through packing and eating dinner, feeling an incredible loneliness when Duinhir doesn't return for the night. He may be gruff at times, but he reminds me of my father – the way my father's eyes used to shine when he told his stories from his Army days, the way he'd get angry when he was worried about me, that drive to make sure I was learning as much as I can; all reminders of my father. I take another bath, this time finding perfumes amongst the hair stuff and mouth wash, and undo my hair afterwards, watching as it loosens in a flood of loose silvery-gold waves. Back home, my hair was always stick straight and never, ever this vibrant and voluminous. Making my hair go into anything other than straight was like sticking bamboo shoots under someone's nails, but here my hair seemed to do exactly what I want; like a curtain of pliable, life-full, baby-fine servants of prettiness.

After climbing into my bed, I cry myself to sleep; missing my family and friends like I would miss my heart or lungs.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I would like to thank Lady Thunderstorm and sephchipmunk for following this story. Love this, hate it; tell me. Or if I've made some horrible error, let me know. Note: Each period of time later starts from the time that Chapter Two leaves off on. I am going to try and use the Elvish calendar, but if I mess up, I'd like to know. Also, I'd like to see who has been spotting how I play with Sindarin words to make one word mean varied things.

To Heatblizzard, my only (guest) reviewer:

Thank you for reviewing, it is MUCH appreciated. I do plan on expanding on my idea with the baskets, but it would be cool if you could help me incorporate a relay system in a realistic fashion. Also to prevent any further Mary-sue issues, let us remember that Pixie (Eryniel) is not perfect, she is stumbling in a body that is not hers (well, it is hers, but she's very used to being a modern teenager), in a world that is not hers. She has a lot to learn before she's ready to even THINK about joining the Fellowship and this is not a Legomance. If you could help me with the Mary-Sue + Relay-System things, I would be most grateful.

"_Avarin" (the language of the Avari elves)_

_Thoughts _

"Normal speech" (Will become Westron as the story continues.)

Chapter Four – Not Perfect

One Month Later

There is a sigh of displeasure from Taengened._ "Eryniel! Your back should be as straight as an arrow!"_

Unfortunately, though I may look like an elf, I clearly did not act like one. After coming from a world where slouching is the norm, sitting straight for hours on end like a good elf wasn't easy, not even with a corset on. Anorien and Ithilien (Duinhir's twin nieces) stifle a few giggles at their mother's strident voice and hurriedly drop their eyes back to their tasks when her glare centres on them. I make every effort to align my spine to what I hope to be the straightness of an arrow and return the book I was reading. About the nine Avari festivals, it is actually quite interesting; even though it is quite a chore to have to sit with my back so straight. Each festival corresponds one of the six Elven months or seasons; Ethuil (Spring), Laer (Summer), Iavas (Harvest), Firith (Autumn), Rhîw (Winter) and Echuir (the first stirring of Spring). The festivals fall in the middle of each month for two days (three for summer and winter) and they are there so that all the elves gather to sing Elvensong (a type of Elven magic) to the forest, to aid in growth and production and to add protection against evil and ill-intent. There are also five other days that are celebrated; Yestarë, the Enderi and Mettarë, the first, middle and last days of the year.

Learning to read and write in Avarin has taken much of my free time in the last month; the rest of my time being devoted to being taught how to cook Avarin cuisine and how to grow and maintain the typical Tauredhel's garden by Duinhir in the mornings, and how to maintain your home as an elf and act like a proper Elven lady by Taengened in the afternoons. I am actually interested in Duinhir's lessons, because reading, cooking and gardening were hobbies of mine when I was on Earth. Taengened's lessons, on the other hand, are almost torturous. Learning how to clean wasn't that bad (I have the next millennia to live; I need all the tasks I can get to fill my time) and neither was learning about the Avarin culture, but learning how to act like a proper lady is the worst. Everything I do normally is criticised; how I sit, how I stand, how I eat, everything. I cannot wait until Taengened passes me to Lainthel to learn her trades. My spine curls over my book, a habit from spending my mortal life curled on a couch, reading. I straighten it again and consider gluing an arrow to my back.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are the occasional rustle of our skirts, the turning of the pages of mine and Ithilien's books and the scratching of Taengened and Anorien's needlework. After what seems an age (my book is really interesting, but sitting with a straight back is a rather… exotic torment), knocking sounds from downstairs and I rush down, hoping against hope that it's Duinhir. Taengened doesn't complain about my running, but I can feel her stern gaze on my back as I lift my skirts to prevent tripping down the stairs. I yank open the door, almost crying in relief when I see my teacher.

He just raises his eyebrows, an expression I have become quite used to over the past month. _"Elven ladies do not run with their skirts up at their calves, Eryniel."_

"_Yes, Master Duinhir," _I mutter sullenly.

He smiles at my sulky face and says, "_Fetch your things, I have a Guard meeting I must attend, so there is all need for haste."_

I grin impishly and interpret his words in my own way; holding my skirts and sprinting to the room my satchel of books and writing materials is in, sprinting back once I've retrieved it. Taengened and Duinhir are, by now, very used to my insane behaviour and while they don't think it's very lady-like, I think they're rather fond of it. After I give the proper farewell (a hand gesture where my index and middle finger are touched to the middle of my forehead and then turned in the direction of Taengened and her family), Duinhir escorts me hurriedly through the forest, back home.

Home. It still feels strange to refer to the _galammar_ and the forest as my home, but it seems as though it is. Thirty days have passed, and still I am here, with no sign of leaving, and so I have decided that this is my home for now. Duinhir saddles his horse while saying goodbye, and rides off to his meeting, his horse kicking fallen leaves and dust into the air. There are six Elven weekdays; I get the sixth one off from my studies and Duinhir takes the night before the sixth day to meet with the Forest Guard to discuss any potential problems, leaving me alone for the night. I do not mind, though it is rather lonely to be the only person in the giant tree.

A piece of mushroom pie that I successfully made this morning is my dinner and once I have cleaned up, I make my way upstairs to my rooms. Now that I can read, a lot of mysteries have been cleared up for me. I know how the toilets work (they don't flush, actually, they incinerate, sending the ashes to underneath the tree for decomposition), I know how the kitchen works and best of all I know how the lights work. Candles are a bit of a fire hazard in trees, and so the Avari replaced them with crystals powered by magic. The crystals are left in light (any light) for several weeks (two sets of crystals are required, because they need to charge) and then placed all around the home. The words "_awaken" _and _"sleep"_ turn them on and off in quite an efficient set-up.

Outside on my balcony is blissful, a slight breeze blows and the fiery gold of the late afternoon sun is still quite warm, so I toe my embroidered slippers off and lie on one of my chairs in my pinkish rose dress, soaking up the heat of the sun. Tiny green shoots collected from the forest and some seedlings currently make up my garden, and tending them gives me a slight taste of home – home before I came to the forest. I've been trying to record everything I remember from Earth in journals; lyrics, recipes, stories, anything. Somehow, though, what I remembered clear as the day on Earth, I'm struggling to remember now. The breeze tugs at my hair and I give up on my depressing thoughts. My watering can is still full, the clean water sparkling in the fading sunlight, so I give my plants another watering, humming a song of Enya's as I go along.

"Even though I leave, will I go on believing  
That this time is real - am I lost in this feeling?  
Like a child passing through,  
Never knowing the reason  
I am home - I know the way  
I am home - feeling oh, so far away."

Several stray tears prick my eyes and get quickly brushed away, so I can focus on the tiny sprouts before me. My balcony is quite wide – about four metres – with a metre of garden space along the outer circumference and three metres of walk way along the walls to my rooms. Duinhir had had to spend a day singing Elvensong with Taengened and her husband to coax the tree into allowing for a deeper garden so that I could plant some saplings along the outer ring, something I'm highly grateful for. My rooms are going to become my paradise, my refuge, and everything about them is going to be perfect for me.

My plan is for ten saplings to go around the circumference with about seven and a half metres of space between them for some vines that will trail up and over the balcony's balustrade and flowers will be planted in the actual bed, with a few bushes in pots around my rooms. Duinhir says that it's a tall order (he didn't say that exactly) but that with effort and time it should work. The search for the perfect plants has been a stretch, but it's all worth it, as I'm finding the same flowers that I would have wanted at home. The best part about living in the forest is that EVERYTHING seems to grow here. The air and ground is moist and humid from the nearby sea, but it's also quite warm from the neighbouring desert. Other factors like the constantly falling leaves (very good compost) and the ubiquitous Elven magic also help the plants, making them grow faster than they would normally.

When I can fuss no more over my plants and the breeze begins to chill, I go back inside, pulling out my journal for song lyrics and beginning to pen down all my favourite Emiliana Torrini songs. I swipe at some more tears. James and I used to sit together and listen to her, he used to play with my hair and joke about dying it pale pink or purple while we did. He always claimed he hated her, but I know he didn't. I fall asleep before I can finish, the therapeutic nature of tears draining me of my energy; dreaming of the first time I met James.

It had been a cold day, and wind tugged at my hair whilst snow fell around me. Being nine years old, I had been too excited to go out and explore my new house's surroundings to remember to grab my jacket, so I had left without it. At the time it had been fine, but now I was lost, hungry and, most of all, cold. The road was near deserted; most people were inside to avoid the cold, except for a boy who was just a bit taller than me.

"Bit stupid, aren't you?" He flicked his shaggy black hair out of his eyes.

Childish rage welled through me and I stomped my foot. "Am not! I bet you're more stupid than me!"

"Are too! Mum always says that if it's snowing you must take your coat, and you didn't." His eyes glinted mischievously, as he was probably just trying to annoy me. He drove the nail of stupidity a bit deeper. "And now you're cold. And probably sick."

I glared at him and tried to hide my shivers. "Am not. I don't get sick. And it isn't mum, it's Mommy."

He grinned, suddenly. "Oh, don't be such a baby. Only babies call their mothers mommy. And here, take my coat. Mum says boys must always offer girls their jackets."

I crossed my arms, thinking that his mum said all too much, but I took the offered jacket. "I'm not a baby. Or stupid. Or sick. But I am lost."

"Nice to meet you, lost, I'm James." He grinned again.

I giggled. "I didn't mean my name is lost!"

"So, what is your name?" Somehow, from being an annoying boy, he had become funny and charming.

I straightened up and tossed my head. "Calypso."

"That's a stupid name. It's pretty, but stupid. Mum told me the story of Calypso, I didn't like it." He tilted his head. "I'm calling you Pixie. You remind me of one."

My dream fades out, and I am alone once more, with no James to protect me. I strip out of my rumpled clothing and put on a night dress. I'll go to sleep now, and hopefully I'll dream of James some more.

A/N the Second: I'm really sorry this chapter is so short. It just ended and I couldn't write anymore for this specific chapter. I'm also sorry that I haven't written in several days… I had extra Maths lessons and my dad took me out so I could practice driving, so at least I have an excuse. Oh, and I also made a picture that reflects on a later moment in this fanfic…


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